


Critical Role Drabbles

by MaritheFangirl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Campaign 02 (Critical Role), Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Drabble, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 12,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaritheFangirl/pseuds/MaritheFangirl
Summary: General writing on the characters in the new season of Critical Role, mostly character studies or character relationship studies with different bits of writing. These characters really inspired me and I've fallen in love with all of them! Some things might be out-dated as time progresses due to the show revealing new things.





	1. Caleb Widogast

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be continually adding more character stuff as time goes on and the show continues. I watch on YouTube on Mondays usually, and that'll base my knowledge on the characters.

Caleb Widogast was a tired, scruffy looking man. Dark circles under his eyes, purple sheen under heavy eyelids. His reddish-brown hair tussled and tangled into a mess, full of old dirt. Blue eyes that seemed dulled with browns and greys, diminished in the dusky light of his work. His lips were cracked and dried, and he tastes his blood every time he licks his lips.  
He’s hunched slightly, terrible posture. Slouched over, pouring over books in dim candlelight, along with the desire to take up limited space, to not draw attention. His skin is almost a greyish tone, marred by bruises and scrapes picked up from living out in the wilderness. But his hands are softer than imagined to be, gentle-but always shaky. And the dirt-caked into his fingernails and on to his skin. The smell of earth and generally unwashed from so many nights away from a city where he could clean.  
And his clothes were no exception to the mistreatment, old, dirtied and worn away over time. Loose fitting, with tears in the fabric, some hastily sewn together, with miscoloured string binding the holes. The long coat is in desperate need of a wash-it’s hard to tell if the jacket was originally brown, or if was just the colour that developed over time due to the build up of dirt. It hung heavy on him, weighted down by the books that lined the inner lining.  
He seemed tired, not unknown to pass out and sleep for far longer than a regular human. Reserved most of the time, soft spoken, but once he has poured himself into his book, does not want to be disturbed. But there is a hollowness he feels inside of him, like the heavy weight on his shoulders that pulls him down. 

 

Caleb used magic frequently, intricate spells coming naturally from him-able to take the words from his pages and turn them into something incredible. The air around him grows sharp, and his eyes flash for a moment. A tingle of magic hovers around him, that makes hairs stand on edge when he is upset and agitated. There’s the sense of a lingering power deep within him-a dangerous force he is containing, but if awoken could be deathly. When he makes contact with other’s skin, there’s the brief moment of a spark-like the prickle of his magical energy is always presence at his fingertips. 

 

Caleb at first thought seems to be a reserved man, with a quiet demeanor. Often kept at an emotional distance, but a gentle sadness that underlines with face and every word.  
But his smile-his face softens into a bright and kind smile. His eyes crinkle and shine brighter than usual, a beautiful blue. It’s comforting, like the breaking down of a wall that was built by books and secrets, an insight into the man within.  
And his laugh-exhilarating. He throws his head back, an unusual display of loudness when it catches him off guard. Hearty, and full of life.

 

After the availability of being cleaned and to the point of being pampered, it was a much-needed wash. It felt like he hadn’t been properly clean in far too long.  
Caleb Widogast-his freshly washed hair fluffy and soft, the rusty colour now reminiscent of a sunset. His skin seemed new, a light pinkish tone instead of a grey with a splattering of freckles across his face. And his eyes were bright, a beautiful blue colour that caught the light. Lips had returned colour and were no longer cracking. The general smell was greatly improved. His clothes were tossed away, give new loose-fitting garments that were cleaned like him.


	2. Fjord/Caleb (The Ocean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very quick look at Fjord and his love of the ocean and the water-and where he finds that connection while on dry land.

Fjord belonged to the sea. He was a sailor at heart. The smell of salt water imbedded into his skin. The worn hands cracked and scarred from life at the docks. The call to the waves, and the craving of the sound of the waves crashing down on the water.  
The moonlight reflecting on the still surface of the water, the calls of the gulls ahead. Rotting wood, covered in barnacles and smelling of sea water. Dry, stiff ropes tearing at his hands and skin. The taste of the salt in the air, and the feel of moisture in his joints.  
His heart belonged to the water.  
And when on land, he felt separated from that connection.  
But when he saw those blue eyes-they reminded him of the waves. A turbulent ocean, lake, sea…he saw the water and his connection in them.  
Blue eyes, framed by rusty hair and a tired wizard.  
The eyes of Caleb Widogast-he saw the sea in them. Where he belonged.


	3. Jester's Sketchbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking into Jester's nightly routine-specially into her speaking with the Traveler and most importantly her sketchbook and the new additions to it after she's made new friends.

Jester’s sketchbook was full of everything she saw.  
The drawings of the day, pages upon pages, flipped through and puffy, carrying the smells of old smoke and parchment. Full of colours, splashed with paint.  
There were crumbs in the bindings and stuck onto pages, smears of icings where her icing covered figure flipping through the pages. Words were scribbled in the margins, little notes or funny jokes she learned.  
There was the occasional pressed leaf, flower, or other flat object she had found that was shoved into the pages, often times falling out as she never did get the technique down.  
But the drawings were the centerpiece. Bright colours of roaring fires and open roads. Tales of hijinks and adventure. Chaos and strife appear quite a lot in the pages, occasional exaggerations of events with a humours spin on even the darkest of situations. Monsters with little speech bubbles saying ridiculous things.  
Anything that made her laugh, or that she thought would make the Traveler proud.  
And with the Traveler…she spoke to him every night when she could. About her day and what she had done to spread chaos and mischief through the world. The friends she made, the sweets and how delicious they were.  
She’d sometimes ask how he was doing too, waiting in the silence by the campfires or in her room in the inns. She didn’t usually hear anything from him, but once in a blue moon got feelings deep in her heart-a feeling of reveller and chaos-a message to continue on with her good work.  
Her sketchbook gains many new additions after she meets her knew friends.  
Mollymauk is present a lot, more specifically his ornate horns, the beautiful shiny things and her fellow tiefling’s tattoos, and humours designs that she would like for her own someday. His swords in battle, with frozen monsters in ice cubes behind him and he charges down the line.  
Yasha makes an appearance as well, her body paint, with a few additions of Jester’s own imagination. She likes drawing Yasha looking happy or silly instead of her usual demeanor. She smiles more in the sketchbook then she does in real life-but that’s because her smiles are often reserved for the little blue tiefling.  
Beau is in there as well, often punching people who annoyed Jester. Or anyone really. Punching, hitting, kicking. Far truer to life. Her being carried around by Jester, who was far stronger then many of her other friends. She has one she is particularly fond of-her and Beau and the two guards that kept coming to the door-Lucas and Jonas, was it now? She has their names scribbled onto that page, but part of it is smudged from a grease stain.  
Nott begins to show up quite quickly after meeting. The little goblin girl with shiny things covering her head to toe, arms full of decorated canes and pretty rocks. Jester draws whatever her and the goblin get up to, talking to the lizard man-frog fiend-devil toed monster with the little dwarven girl. She draws Nott stealing from her, and Jester always offers encouragement. She recognizes a fellow spirit of chaos, and fans the flame to keep life interesting.  
Caleb and his cat show up. Frumpkin-or Lumpy as she prefers him-more than his human. The kitty cat turning into a bird, and then the cat for chasing the bird form. The little bird landing on the horns of Molly and then her. Her drawings of Caleb often were visuals of his smell around him, and it was harder to pass them off as exaggerations. But she drew him with his magic and it being so beautiful. Her favourite of him was the braids that she put in his hair, with little bows at the end for an addition. He looked very pretty like that. And there was him with his books that he would show her. She scribbled over the books in her drawings to express her annoyance over that.  
And Fjord of course, showed up earlier then the rest of them. The half orc around the sea. She drew him with a silly pirate’s hat, with an eyepatch and a hook for a hand. She drew every disguise he ever was in-the old man a popular one, a hunched figure in a hood. But Fjord is there, with his blade in one hand and a spell in the other fighting some monster who is drenched to the core by the end of it.  
Jester draws everyone together at night, an tells the Traveler about her new friends and what they got up to that day, recounting adventures often with flairs and embellishments.  
There were so many drawings because they were so many adventures-she would need to get a new sketchbook soon!


	4. Mollymauk the Conman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short writing bit about Molly and him being part of the carnival and what it meant for him to hide and disguise himself in more then one kind of way.

“Because I’m weird!”  
He says this earnestly, though with always an air of amusement. That’s how he works. He always has a grin on his face, sly and clever.   
Mollymauk was a conman. That’s just how he operated. His cards shifting with every passing comment. Give people what they’d like to see and offer a general explanation with absolute conviction.  
It took commitment to his act. He was used to that.  
It took commitment to be a Blood Hunter, to give his own life force for extra power, an extra edge.   
Unlike many other things he told people, him being weird was no lie. It took a special kind of person to wind up working at a carnival. He was that kind of person.  
But he could smile and charm, sarcasm in bound whenever he opened his mouth. Never letting anything get to him, never taking anything to seriously.  
But he was a conman.  
There was truth hidden behind his eyes, but it took an insightful person to pick that up. He cared for his people at the carnival- or cared as much as he found himself capable of. He stayed distant emotionally, never allowing himself to peel back the layers and walls he had built around himself. Layers of over-elaborate robes and perfumes, glinting gems in her hair and horns and of course, behind that conniving smile.  
But there were moments when the façade was dropped, when he was with the people he cared about, a comfort that set in. But he laughed and teased them and joked and flirted because that’s what he did.   
But there was something underneath, that came out in battles when his emotional guard was down. A fury in those eyes-the reminded forcefully of his heritage, a fire that seared and scorched those he made contact with. A ferocity that was matched only by the monsters he was hunting. Blurring the line between the hunter and the hunted.   
He was used to being called a monster-he bared his teeth and flicked his tail and couldn’t care less.   
He was a monster. He was weird.   
But he moved from one freak show to the next, keeping up his act of the conman, adapting to the next situation.   
And feared the day when someone pulled back the curtain and saw the truth about the tiefling underneath.


	5. Beau the Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking into Beau being a fighter through her skills as a monk and a little bit of head canons into her backstory

Beau had been a fighter all her life. Sometimes it was physical fights, coming home with scrapes and bruises and black eyes after facing kids twice her size and age with nothing but her fists and raw grit. She’d chip and tooth and grin, spitting blood back at them.   
She taped her knuckles and threw herself out there again and again until she couldn’t anymore, and then went a little longer.   
Sometimes it was verbal fights, screaming matches or just talking and talking and yelling at anyone who would listen until her voice was hoarse and her throat burned. She would spit and snarl, tears stinging at her eyes. Fists clenched in anger, knowing they were a lot stronger now. Knowing they could do some damage.  
But she tried to learn control, without much luck. Her impulsiveness and temper overcame reason many times, leading to tricky situations with far too many guardsmen.   
But she continued to fight. Her fists could move mountains, or at least in her mind. They could punch monsters to death, and that’s what really mattered. She was using a bigger and better stick now, and that helped a lot.  
But there was that energy inside her, that she could channel into her movements and fights. Raw power that didn’t need a blade to do damage. She learned where to hit and how.  
But one girl with her fists and her stick against the world was a challenge. But Beau was a fighter and would fight the whole damn world if she had to.  
But she learned that she didn’t. She found friends to fight by her side, to take hits and deliver damage. To scream with her, against anyone who would listen. To scream to just get their voices heard.   
And she didn’t to fight alone.


	6. Nott and Frumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Nott and Frumpkin’s relationship, and a bit into Nott and Caleb’s.

Nott wasn’t always a big fan of Frumpkin. She tried to love him, she did. She loved Caleb, so she wanted to love his cat. But she just didn’t like cats that much, and something about Frumpkin’s eyes…  
But the cat was there. He was usually a cat, Caleb said it was his preferred form.   
Whenever Nott got the itch to steal something, she could pet Frumpkin’s soft fur or play with him with little knick-knacks she had picked up. At least he was good company.  
And whenever she was scared or skittish, she could hold him closely and tell him about her fears. He was a good listener.  
He would jump up on her lap, or sit along her shoulders, flaying with the end of her hair or stretching out to get pets and belly-rubs. And he was there to cuddle at night while she slept, his body heat keeping her warm during the coldest nights.   
Sometimes when she snuck out at night, Frumpkin would follow her around.  
“Shoo!” she’d whisper at the cat, “Go back up to Caleb,”  
But he would just lick his paw and flick an ear at her and follow her regardless.   
It was good to have the company.  
The more she knew Caleb and Frumpkin, the more similarities Nott saw in them. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was seeing Frumpkin being controlled by Caleb, or if there were really similarities between them regardless.  
Caleb would blink slowly while watching whoever he was listening to. He would curl up while he slept, tucked in on himself. And when he was angry-which didn’t happen very often-he would bristle up, and one time she swore that he hissed at an unfair guardsman.   
But as Nott grew to love Caleb, Frumpkin came with that.   
And perhaps she could learn to love the cat as well.


	7. Mollymauk's Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Molly's deck of cards, and I think it could lead to some fun interactions!

It was a rare sight to not see Mollymauk with his cards. He was always shuffling them, flipping them, fiddling with them in his hands.   
The lavender tiefling was almost hyperactive, his hands always needing to do something. And the cards filled that gap.  
He hadn’t planned on becoming a fortune teller, but he picked up the skills quickly, his hands able to move deftly to switch the cards.   
The actual fortune reading wasn’t too bad. It was easy for him to make something up-say the right generic readings to hit the right points. Besides, if his fortunes didn’t turn out-the carnival would move along, and he wouldn’t have to see them ever again.  
Molly could read the person with a few minutes of conversation which he usually grabbed. The displayed personality helped him tailor a believable fortune telling.  
The atmosphere helped as well.  
He had a small part of the tent set up, purple and pink curtains with beads attracted to the end for people to walk through. The smell of strong perfumes, the low candlelight. The décor with little trinkets, and his own appearance. His used Thaumaturgy to enhance the experience as well occasionally, to change the light from the candles or to create mysterious sounds.  
It was a performance over anything else.  
But he picked the right cards and tried to convince them how it was relevant.  
Molly would tell the young man of the Knight, telling him tales of glory and adventure, and watching the glint of inspiration enter their eyes.  
He would see a young girl and pull the Throne card, promising riches and power in her future.  
An older lady would come in, skeptical at first. He would smile and charm and present her the Gem card and promises her beautiful gems and treasures coming for her.   
And the elderly man who would come in, with a croaky voice and tired eyes, Molly would watch carefully. He would be tempted to pull the Skull card-at least that fortune would come true. But he would pick the moon and tell him of the beauty that was waiting for him. And the elder would give him a toothless smile and tip his hat.  
It was just a card trick to be sure, but he could spin it in a way to make it real.  
He flipped his deck, shuffling absentmindedly. He picked a card and looked it over for himself.   
The Fates.  
Was it a sign of what was going to come? Something inside him flickered questioningly, but he pushed it aside.   
The Fates were supposed to change his life and the world. Was it his life that was going to change?   
Or was he going to change the world?  
Only time would tell.


	8. Yasha the Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Yasha being a Assimair barbarian

An Angel.  
Yasha was an angel.  
But she never felt that way.  
She towered among common humans and most other races, her intimidating appearance frightening others away. She didn’t care, stranger’s judging eyes meant nothing to her. Or so she tried to toughen herself up to be.  
In was her nature to want to help people, but most people didn’t want to be helped.  
But she never fit in. She was too bulky, too cold, too different to find a place anywhere.  
That’s why the carnival settled in. They were all a special kind of weird, so she fit in nicely.  
Mollymauk had been like her and she found kinship in the tiefling. He was different, like her. Lavender, a rare colour of tiefling. Both aasimars and tieflings were planetouched, and often seen as outsiders. They could understand each other in a way she hadn’t had a connection with anyone before.  
Tieflings and aasimars didn’t typically get along, representing the two various sides of the spectrum of good and evil. But the world wasn’t as cut and dry as good and bad, light and dark. She learned about the million variants of grey in between.  
There was an image of aasimars, this angelic vision of purity and goodness, bringing light to the world. A divinity that came along with paladins or clerics. Healing, helping people find their path to the light.  
Yasha was an angel.  
But her hands were too rough, her heart too hard. She didn’t have the natural charm of her people, but she was very strong and could hit things really hard.  
Some claimed she was beautiful, but sometimes it was hard to see it.  
Molly told her she was beautiful, after she had mistaking spoken about it. But he said it didn’t matter what anyone called her, all what mattered was her own opinion, and what she valued herself by.  
Angels were supposed to be beautiful.  
But Yasha killed and hurt instead of helped and healed. She let herself look like however she wanted, being herself, and she was beautiful in her eyes. And she was nice to people who deserved it.  
Yasha was an angel.  
The Angel of Death.


	9. Beau/Yasha (Arm Wrestling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well they couldn’t add in the prospect of arm wrestling and have me not write something about it now could they? So here, the start of some Beau/Yasha for the lead up to Valentine’s Day, more shipping to come.

“So…you wouldn’t arm wrestle Fjord, would you arm wrestle me?”  
Beau watches the large and rather imposing figure of Yasha across from her. The aasimar was deep into her drink at that point, a large flagon of ale in one hand. Her mismatched eyes glanced up at Beau.  
“You seem to enjoy fighting people,” Yasha replies, taking another drink.  
Beau raises an eyebrow, “And you don’t?”  
Yasha looks down into the flagon and doesn’t respond.  
Beau gives her a cheeky grin, and sticks out her arms onto the table, getting into position.   
“C’mon! I want to see those arms in action,” she grins, “Since they’re worth so much.”  
Yasha puts that flagon down and stares at Beau for a bit. Beau licked her lips and took a glance at the said arms. Rippling muscles that the almost ghostly pale white skin stretched across. She saw what those arms could do with the right weapon in hand.  
Finally, Yasha put her elbow on the table and rested her hand not a few inches from bows, both waiting in the air.  
Beau glanced up, the eyes catching her off guard again. Gods they were-iridescent.  
“Yes!” Beau, “Ready?”  
Yasha closed her hand around Beau’s, and they started the arm wrestle.  
Beau pushed down on Yasha’s hand, exerting as much force as she could. But the woman’s arm wouldn’t budge. She pressed harder and harder, her own arm strained and starting to hurt, but Yasha remained quiet, a neutral expression on her face.   
Beau grunted, a few beads of sweat running down her forehead.  
For a fleeting moment, Beau looked down at the scene of battle-and realized she was technically holding hands with a beautiful girl. And it was pretty nice.  
Exhausted, her grip slackened slightly as she needed a break.  
The second the force relaxed-slam! Her arm was on the table, Yasha moving in one quick motion to end the game. And Beau realized that Yasha hadn’t ever really been trying-she had just been holding her arm in place.  
‘Cause she was really freakin’ strong.  
Beau panted a bit, shaking her arm out. She felt like she pulled a muscle from straining it.  
“Ugh, damn…” the monk muttered, rubbing her arm where it was sore, “That was pretty awesome.”  
Yasha looked amused, “I would think someone who hits people for a living might pack a bit more punch.”  
Beau shrugged nonchalantly, “Eh, it’s precision, not force. Hitting them in the right spot to make them hurt. I’m not like you.”  
“No, you’re not.” Yasha commented, “But maybe that’s a good thing.”  
Yasha looked down at the flagon-empty.   
“Well,” the barbarian said, “Maybe we could do that again some time.”  
“Maybe some day I’ll beat you,” Beau suggested with a grin.  
Yasha flashed a rare smile, “Maybe. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
She got up from the table and went upstairs.  
Beau watched her go, resting on her good arm a she wished she had a drink as well.  
She wouldn’t mind arm wrestling her again.


	10. Fjord the Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Fjord being a warlock and how he got some of his powers-it's my headcanon that his powers come from some creature or deity from the sea, giving him that really cool sword, and also siren like powers with his voice!

Fjord stood at the edge of the ocean. Feet digging into the sand, feeling it between his toes. The sea breeze running through his air. He took a long breath-the salty air embedding itself into his skin and his clothes.

The wave lapped along the beach, leaving remnants of its mark in the sand. A few shells were scattered along the edge of the water.

And he looked out into the vast sea-spanning farther than the low horizon, the sunset fading away. Deep reds and oranges fading into the velvet of night.

The tide churned and splashed, one wave making it up to his feet. 

It called to him-a desperate pull towards the water. He took a few steps in, the water brushing against his ankles, and further up his legs. 

A sense of power washed through him, and he pulled a blade from the sea. He held it out, it was dripping with sea water-an endless supply of the water. 

The Ocean had gifted this blade to him, a piece of the ocean to carry with him. It granted him his powers to slay his enemies.

It granted him the voice of a siren, able to coerce and manipulate. An alluring voice no one could resist. 

You belong to me…The Ocean whispered.

The waves wrapped around his legs, begging him to walk deeper.

The half-orc did, walking until he was waist deep in the salty water. 

And he plunged into the depths.


	11. Caleb/Fjord (His Books)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's day is coming up, have some ship based drabbles on some of the parings in the lead up to the 14th, starting with Fjord and Caleb.

Caleb loved his books. 

That much was obvious.

And when the wizard read the, he liked his peace and quiet. He would be absorbed in the book, reading it cover to cover in only a few hours. The whole world around him could be on fire, and he wouldn’t eve noticed. He needed his peace when reading. 

Fjord would glance at him occasionally, watching the way Caleb’s eyes eagerly scanned the pages, jumping from line to line. How his calloused hands flipped the pages, occasionally licking a finger before he did so. And most of all, when he had finished reading, how he was smile and slam the book down as if was a beast he had conquered-his prize being the new knowledge he had learned.

It took some time, but Fjord eventually asked Caleb about his books. He mentioned it casually at first, as he had glanced the cover-the title mentioning magic. 

“Oh, well, it’s uh…rituals spells mostly. Theoretical memoirs on the uses and practisers of different rituals,” Caleb explained, sounding a little distracted.

“Are most of your books like that?” Fjord asked curiously.

“Well, some of them. Not all. I like all sorts of books about different subjects.”

“What about stories and the like?” the half-orc questioned.

Caleb chuckled, “Occasionally. Nott likes hearing stories sometimes. But I rather books based in reality.”

“Mostly magic-based then?”

And Caleb’s blue eyes lit up in a way that was never caused by anything else. 

“Yes, exactly. You did mention you were interested in learning magic, right?” the wizard finally picking up on it. 

Fjord nodded.

“Ah! Well, the book goes into a deeper look into the works and ideologies of certain ritual spell casters…”

And as Caleb talked, Fjord had an excellent excuse to watch him.

Caleb was so passionate, becoming animate while he talked as he explained about his book to Fjord, who clung onto every word. Not just because of the magic, but also because of the wizard.

And Fjord smiled, smothering a slight laugh. Who knew that answer to getting this wizard to open up was right there in front of him-Caleb’s favourite subject. 

And it quickly became Fjord’s favourite thing to just listen and enjoy.


	12. Beau/Yasha (Height Differenece)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More shipping shenanigans, this time with Beau and Yasha.
> 
> Beau: Did it hurt?  
> Yasha: *rolls eyes* let me guess, when I fell from heaven?  
> Beau: No  
> Yasha: What?  
> Beau: Did it hurt when you fell for me?

“How come you’re so much taller than me?” Beau asked, her mouth twisting in mild annoyance.

“Because you’re only human,” Yasha replied casually, glancing across at Beau.

The monk crossed her arms, “That’s not fair.”

Yasha grinned and shrugged, turning back to sharpening her weapon.

Beau put out her hand, palm facing Yasha as if she was going for a high five.

“What are you doing?” Yasha asked, amused.

“Your hand. Put it on mine.” Beau instructed.

Yasha laughed, “Very smooth.”

But she did.

Beau look at it, Yasha large hand a ghostly pale and way bigger than Beau’s.

“I’m comparing them,” Beau explained under Yasha’s questioning gaze.

“Mine’s bigger,” the aasimar commented, before folding her fingers downwards between Beau’s so they were holding hands.

Beau blushed and stammered but didn’t pulled away.

“But your’s fits nicely in mine,” Yasha finished with another grin.

 

Nearing nightfall outside their camp for the night. Beau and Yasha stood a bit away from the campfire as their companions began to fall asleep for the night.

Beau was not to discreetly using her hand as a measurement to try and see where on Yasha’s body she came up to.

And Yasha watched her in growing amusement. 

“I used to be tall…” Beau lamented finally, putting her hand down in defeat.

“You still are.” Yasha told her.

“Not compared to you,”

Yasha shrugged, “Not a lot of people are.”

Beau stood on her tiptoes trying to reach eye level with Yasha, losing balance and stumbling a bit. Finally, she settled back down. 

Beau crossed her arms and huffed. Yasha smirked and rested his elbow along Beau head to tease her, and Beau scowled.

“Hey! It’s not fair that you’re part angel,” She accused, “I look like a child compared to you, I-hey!”

Before she could react, Yasha had scooped Beau off the ground, lighting her high into the air.

“There you go,” Yasha told her, “Now you’re taller than me.”

It took the barbarian no effort to carry her up, and Beau felt dizzy from being swayed around. 

She placed the monk back down on the ground, and Beau steadied herself.

She still crossed her arms, but didn’t look annoyed any longer.

Yasha bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek as Beau’s faced flushed. 

“I like you the way you are,” she told her.

And Beau grinned, running her fingers through her hair.


	13. Caleb/Jester (Hair Braiding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A expansion and look into a cute scene between Jester and Caleb when Caleb is using Frumpkin’s eyes to scan the lake, and Jester messes with him.
> 
> Also I can’t remember if he mentioned if he ever took the braids out, so they might still be in his hair? I can only hope.

Caleb sat on the bed, his mind shifting into Frumpkin’s. He watched the town from a literal bird’s eye view, as the fluffy, feathered form of Frumpkin took to the skies. 

As he took down at the town, he could feel suddenly, a sharp jab to his human form’s forehead.

“Ow!” he muttered, face scrunching up.

He was in the room with all his new companions, but he could take a guess at who had poked him. The offending finger was likely blue and belonged to a trickster tiefling.

“Don’t do that please, I’m trying to concentrate,” he said between his teeth, trying to refocus back onto Frumpkin, who had remained hovering in their air during the exchange.

He could see the two islands on the shimmering lake, the blue water had the soft sunlight reflecting in the waves.

And then he felt something strange, back in his human form. Someone was playing with his hair. 

Nimble fingers separating sections of his hair, running it through. His hair was dirty, like the rest of him, and uncombed. But it did not deter whoever was working on his hair.

And couldn’t see or hear anything, but he had a suspicion it was the same tiefling that had poked him.

Jester began braiding his hair, a tiny braid on both sides of his head. It felt good, which surprised Caleb, but there was something relaxing about it, and he had to pull himself out of the trance it was putting him in and focus back as Frumpkin.

Caleb actually loved people playing with his hair, but it had been a long time since anyone really had. But he certainly wasn’t about to say anything about it-especially to someone like Jester. Who knew what she would do to it the minute he well asleep in her presence?

When he finally pulled out of Frumpkin, he had forgotten all about it in the chaos that was Nott’s acid spill and rushing to clean it up.

He actually kept them in during the whole journey to the island and in the following days.

No one mentioned it, either themselves forgetting about it, or not wanting to lose the sight of Caleb with his braids.

When the wizard did eventually see himself in the looking glass, he remembered all about it, and hurriedly took them out.

It wasn’t until later that he began to regret that, when he saw a glimpse of Jester’s crestfallen face when she noticed the braids were gone.

He found himself feeling a little bit guilty but didn’t really know what to do about it.

The answer presented itself in him using Frumpkin’s eyes to scout out their surroundings ahead of them, leaving Jester to do her work on his hair again.

Which she did-he felt his hair shifting in his human form, and let a smile slip out, before hurriedly trying to focus back onto Frumpkin. 

There were at least ten new braids in his hair by the time she was done, adorned by a few pretty ribbons.

But Caleb found himself not really minding.


	14. Fjord/Jester (Looks Are Deceiving)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord, the half-orc with a strength of like, 10?   
> And Jester, the little blue tiefling with a strength of 16?
> 
> I had to write something about it

Looks can be deceiving.

Fjord knows this in his core-because it applied to him. He was a half-orc, people around him expected him to be the tough one. He stood out in a crowd, larger than the rest, and expected to be bigger and stronger. 

But he never was that-never the muscle. He could wield a sword and all, but his talents lay in his voice, by word or spell. He prided himself on his knowledge and intellect rather than brute strength.

So when put in position to test feats of apparent strength, he would give a hard smile and move swiftly around it.

He learnt the lesson again when he met Jester. A little tiefling girl who danced around and caused chaos. Even when she wasn’t next to people like Beau or Yasha, she had a softer frame.

But looks could be deceiving.

He saw it a few times, the strength that Jester was able to muster. Like a hidden force that was able to move mountains. 

It was shown most presently when Fjord was injured during a fight. All he remembered was being hit and falling to the ground, unconscious.

When he came to, he looked up, blurry eyed at a blue tiefling, her brow creased in worry.

He felt the prickle of magic against his skin as Jester hovered her hands just above his form, casting her healing magic onto him.

“Fjord? Are you there?’ she asked, head tilting.

His eyelids fluttered, and he groaned in response.

“Oh okay, hold on then. I’ll get you out of here, okay?” Jester told him.

Fjord wondered at how the hell they were going to get out of there, when he felt a pair of hands scoop under him.

And Jester was picking him up like he was a rag doll in her arms and carrying him with little to no effort. He saw the shift of the cave around him, and the worried faces of his other companions before he passed out again.

When he came to again, they were sitting around a campfire, and he was feeling much better.

“How are you feeling? Better, right? I healed you a lot, you know.” Jester’s voice cut through the haze of mist that was clouding his thoughts.

Fjord nodded slowly, “Yes, actually. And thank you, for healing me. And saving me, Jester.”

She beamed, “Oh it’s no problem! You know, you’re actually a lot lighter to carry then I expected! I thought these would weigh more,”

She grabbed a bicep, and Fjord glanced down at the blue hand grabbing him, slightly flustered.

“Oh well, uh, I look a lot stronger than I am,” he admitted, “And you’re a lot stronger then you look.”

“We make a good pair,” Jester told him earnestly.

“Yeah, I suppose we do.”

Fjord thought for a moment about the last time he had been awake, “So, you really did carry me out of there, then?”

“Yes!” she grinned, “It was easy, just like this!”

“Whoa, hey Jester-!” he sputtered as Jester scooped him up again as Fjord was lifted effortlessly into the air.

She spun them around in a circle.

“Be careful with him now,” Molly chided light heartedly, “Let’s not break him again?”

Jester put him down, “See? Just like that!”

Fjord felt a little windless and could do nothing but chuckle.

“Right-thank you for the demonstration,”

Jester grinned again and tuned away.

And Fjord reaffirmed just how deceiving looks could be.


	15. The Party (showing Affection)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! In the spirit of the season, here's a look into the different character's ways of expressing their affections to each other in various ways! <3

Caleb showed his affection though a few ways. To Nott, of course, he was the most affection with, with twirling hugs and warm smiles. With the others, he felt it easier to use Frumpkin-they seemed to like the cat a lot. So sometimes when he felt someone needed cheering up, or if he wanted to reach out to them, he would send Frumpkin over to comfort them. They would find themselves with a cat on their lap, purring and demanding pets. And sometimes Caleb would find himself somewhere to be alone so he could watch through Frumpkin’s eyes and take care of his friends that way.

Nott gave lots of smiles, even when sometimes they could be scary. But she loved listening to people and would sit cross-legged as people could talk about their problems, and she would try her best to solve it-to varying results. But she mostly showed her appreciation and love for her friends through the gifts she gave them-the little trinkets she found or stole. Shiny things that reminded her of one of her friends, she would take it by whatever means and give it to them. Rocks, flowers, anything unusual or interesting-she didn’t mind giving up bits of her collection for her friends.

Jester was always there to be supportive and to heal. Mostly, she liked making people laugh when they had a bad day, and would sketch them something nice or amusing to cheer them up. But she was full of compliments to give and loved to hear stories. She would give them baked goods or other sweets she acquired. But she would always there with a hug and smile, and a fair amount of teasing, to show that she loved them.

Beau showed her affection in a different way. She would be the first to stand up for her friends when they were mistreated or insulted. The first to go to bat for them, to fight for their honour, to defend her friends. But a playful punch and sidelong grin from Beau meant that she cared, in her own way.

Fjord was able to show his love for his friends by being able to talk. And to listen. Whenever someone needed an ear and a friend, he was there to sit beside them and to listen and respond with a slow nod of head as he took in every word. Or if he need to take someone’s mind off something, he could tell stories until the sun rose, of life and happiness. Some real, most made up, but he always promised to be open for a chat.

Molly was physically affectionate-he would throw his arm around someone as they walked and talked. Sat right beside his friends until he was practically on their lap. Playing with hair, linking arms, light pecks on the cheek of friendly love, so long as the person was comfortable with it, he would perform. And always knowing, somehow, the right card to pull to cheer a person up or make things better-even for the skeptics. 

Yasha was quieter in her affections and acts of love compared to some of the others. Mostly, it was through her book-collections of memories. To her, a shared memory meant just as much as the moment itself. Words were never her strong suit, but in battle, she could do what words could not. She could fight to protect the people she loved and cared for, saving them from certain death, and lighting the way through the darkness.


	16. Beau/Jester (Tree Climbing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expanding on a scene from episode 5 when Beau and Jester climb a tree to try and look ahead, and learn that it's the first time Jester's ever climbed a tree.
> 
> Beauregard and Jester sitting in a tree...C-A-R-V-I-N-G

Jester climbed up onto the tree, her hands grasping at the bark, unsure where to put her hands. But she pulled herself up until she was hanging onto the trunk.

Beau looked down at her-the monk and scrambled up the tree like a squirrel, like she had climbed trees her whole life. Beau pushed a few strands of hair from her eyes, and leaned down with ease, offering an arm.

“Need a hand?” she asked with a grin.

Jester took it and was hauled up to the branch. Beau leaned against the side of the trunk, arm resting on a knee while the other leg dangled down, swinging. Jester grabbed onto the branch they were sitting on with both hands, looking down at the plains beneath her, at least ten feet down.

It was a nice view, rolling hills in the distance, the road just in sight. The little white wildflowers she had gathered earlier were everywhere. A soft breeze was rustling in the branches of the tree.

A ladybug flew past her, and Jester tried to get it to land on her hand, to no avail.

Beau looked around the trunk beside her, tracing a hand along the bark. 

“I’ve never climbed a tree before,” Jester finally admits.

Beau is shocked, she couldn’t think of growing up and not climbing the different trees. She wondered where on earth Jester grew up that they didn’t have good climbable trees.  
She watched the bleu Tiefling ease into it more, slackening her grip on the branch, and swinging her feet, tossing her dress as she grinned.

“This is really pretty,” Jester continued, eyes sparkling.

Jester spoke about unicorns, and Beau marveled at the wonders that went on inside her head-little unicorns, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. 

Jester wavered a bit on the tree, her grasp slipping as she shifted. She let out a gasp, and Beau instinctively lunged forwards, holding her in place.

“Don’t’ worry, I’m not going to let you fall,” Beau promised.

Jester nodded, tilting her head to the side as she looked at Beau.

They enjoyed the view again, and Beau glanced at the trunk out of the corner of her eye.

“Hey d’you wanna…” she trailed off, wondering if she should go through with the idea, thinking of the implications.

But Jester had already turned her full attention on Beau, so there really was no backing out.

“D’you wanna, like, carve our initials into the tree? People do that, sometimes.” Beau suggested, “No one else has, as far as I can tell.”

“Ooh! Yes!” Jester said, clapping her hands together, then immediately steadying herself on the branch, “That’d be fun,”

Beau had a small dagger on her, and worked away at carving her name: Beauregard into the trunk, accompanied by what was supposed to be a fist punching, but turned out to look like a weird lump.

Jester looked at the drawing, “Nice work!” she said with a grin.

Beau looked at the tiefling in amusement as she scooted over and took the knife and began her own carving into the bark.

Jester surrounded by a heart. Then she drew a little unicorn in rather good detail with just the tools she was working with.

“There!” Jester turned to Beau, “It’s our tree now,”

Our tree. 

Beau grinned, “Yeah, I guess it is.” She turned to Jester, “Want to name it?”

Jester beamed, “Yes! Ooh, how about…Beau-Jester….Beauester?” 

“Bester.” Beau added, “Cause it’s the best tree.”

“I like it,”

That was good enough for Beau.

The two girls jumped down, and Jester put her hand on the tree, “Bye, Bester!” she called up the branches above them.

She pulled out her sketchbook and stared at the tree as they walked away, already sketching it out.

“Even if we can’t take our tree with us, it’ll be in here!” Jester pointed out, gesturing with her journal.

Beau smiled warmly, watching her flick the page, adding a few more lines.

“Well hey, was your first time climbing a tree a good one?” Beau asked.

“Very good,” Jester confirmed, still looking down at hr pages, “We should do it again sometime!”

Beau made a silent promise to herself to take Jester tree climbing as often as she could.


	17. Caleb and Nott (Learning Magic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short scene about Caleb being a proud and concerned father over his little goblin girl and teaching her some magic.

Caleb was sitting in an old wooden rocking chair, slowly rocking back and forth. A fireplace was sputtering embers in their little room in the Inn, smoke escaping upwards through the chimney. 

A window the outside world had ran splattered on the glass pane, streaks of water running past, obscuring the world of dark, heavy rain clouds that was outside.

It was warm in the room, the fire being a pleasant, orange glow scattering throughout the room, casting long dark shadows across the peeling walls. The chair creaked as Caleb moved it methodically, one foot propelling the movement as he stared into the dancing flames, the light reflecting in his blue eyes.

On his lap, curled up and purring contently was Frumpkin. The orange kitty was happily cuddled up to Caleb Widogast, who was stroking him as they rocked. Frumpkin stretched out a paw, digging his claws into Caleb’s pant leg, and settled back in, tucking his head burying it with his other paws.

Nott was sitting cross-legged on the floor, going over her collection on her shiny trinkets one by one. Every so often she snuck glances at Caleb from her spot on the floor, the human wizard seemingly lost in thought. She opened her mouth a few times to say something, but closed it again, going back to her shiny prizes, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“What is it, Nott?” he finally asked, when his gaze turned to her, eyebrows pulled together in concern.

The goblin girl shut her mouth, the word she was about to say dying in her throat, “Oh, it’s nothing…nothing,”

“What’s wrong?” Caleb asked, concern creeping in the edges of his voice now.

On his lap, Frumpkin’s head shot up, ears twitching back and forth, and setting his gaze on Nott.

“How are you feeling?” Caleb continued, “You were very hurt after that battle earlier, do you feel any better?”

Nott nodded, “Yes, Jester healed me right up!”

Caleb glanced past Nott and towards the door, “Yes, she did, didn’t she? I’m very glad to have her around for all the times she has saved us and our friends.”

“Me too,” Nott admitted.

“And I like how she’s good to you,” Caleb finished.

Nott picked at some of the loose strands of thread from the carpet, adverting her gaze.

“But what was it that you needed?” Caleb asked again.

“Oh, Caleb I was just wondering…if you have the time, of course…but if we could practice some of those spells and magic things again? Maybe learn some new stuff?” Nott asked, hopefully, looking up at Caleb with her large yellow eyes.

His face softened into a smile, as he nodded, “Of course, Nott. What would you like to learn?”

Frumpkin hopped from his lap and took a seat beside where Nott was sitting and began licking his paw. Caleb stood up and made his way over, matching Nott’s place on the carpet.

“Maybe some of those pretty lights you make?” Nott asked.

Caleb nodded, opening his palms up, “Just follow and watch what I do alright?”

The palm was opened up, and he whispered a few things quite clearly and louder than he usually would have, moving his hands in the right motions. Finally, he spread his fingers and a glowing orb of light appeared, hovering just over his palm.

“Now you try,” he urged Nott.

Nott did her best to copy the movements and the word, but in the end, no light appeared. Her face sunk, and her ears drooped.

“It’s alright, it’s only the first time you’ve tried it,” Caleb encouraged.

“But it’ll never be as good as you,” Nott said, slouching a bit backwards, resting on her knees now to be more eye level with Caleb.

“You’re selling yourself short, you’ve done amazing so far-I’m so very proud of you. You know that right?” Caleb told her.

Nott looked away, downwards at the carpet.

“Nott,” Caleb said.

She looked up, his face kind and warm-the soft light from the fire flickering onto his face. She couldn’t help but smile.

“We can practice whenever you want, okay?” Caleb told her.

She nodded, “Thank you, Caleb.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile, “It’s no problem, now-want to continue?”

She nodded eagerly, as she watched him perform the dancing lights again.

One day she would get it.


	18. Caleb/Mollymauk (The Flames)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after episode 7, and this one is pretty angsty compared to my other writing on here. 
> 
> Also, I didn't ship this until that forehead kiss! It was too much!

Caleb sat very still, staring down at the ground. His eyes unfocused, and his vision blurry. He was shivering slightly in the cold evening air. 

He did not see the world around him, instead he was trapped in memories-flashes, images. Flickering flames, the fire consuming.

His own hands began to shake, trembling, and giving off the smell of smoke. It filled his lungs, and he felt like he was choking. 

“Caleb?” a softer voice cut through the tirade of thoughts.

But Caleb remained still.

“Caleb!?” the voice became harsher, and the wizard felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

With a hard blink, the world in front of him jumped back into focus, and he was face to face with a lavender tiefling, Mollymauk’s arm resting on his shoulder.

“Caleb…” he said for the third time, “Are you okay?”

There was apprehension in Molly’s manner, but concern, also. 

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Caleb lied as he adverted gaze.

He was staring at his hands-no longer smoking-he wondered if they ever were. But he clasped them together and curled in on himself tighter. As if he was trying to shrink himself down, to be unnoticeable.

Molly’s eyes scanned the man in front of him and shook his head very slightly. A jingling could be heard from some of Molly’s little trinkets that adorned his head and horns clanged together with the movement.

“No, I don’t think you are,” he said, removing his hand.

With a fluid motion, Molly pulled off his own robe and draped it over Caleb’s shoulders delicately.

It wasn’t much in terms of warmth, but Caleb clung to the folds of it none the less, pulling it tighter around himself.

“Thank you,” Caleb’s voice came out low, and barely louder than a whisper.

Molly settled next to him, worry creeping in his throat. He had seen things like this before-in friends, in strangers, sometimes in himself. It didn’t make watching someone go through it any worse.

“You remember how I said we can deal with it later?” the tiefling asked, glancing back at Caleb, “Well, it’s later now.” 

And Molly watched as Caleb opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in this throat. His blue eyes filled with tears as the wizard took a few shuddering sobs, trying to keep restraint, but failing miserably.

“Oh, come here now,” Molly put his arm around Caleb and pulled him closer, “C’mere.”

When he felt no resistance, he let Caleb cry into his shoulder as he held him.

The tiefling wanted answers, desperately, but if Caleb wasn’t in a place for talking, then he wouldn’t push it.

So instead he ran his fingers through Caleb’s tousled reddish-brown hair, his fingers getter caught in the ratty knots, as he gingerly removed his hand to prevent tearing his hair out. 

Molly wanted to assure Caleb that everything was going to be okay, and that he was safe, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t know what he was going through. So, he remained quiet.

And held on to Caleb for as long as needed during the cold night, a beacon of warmth for the wizard to cling to.


	19. Fjord's Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The accent is a lieeeee 
> 
> I think Jester might know that the Texan accent is fake, from one comment after the quote that I looked up for the start of this small piece. Episode 3, 2:09:20, when she tells Fjord that she likes it, and that he can keep doing [the accent], so maybe she is aware that the accent isn’t Fjord’s natural voice, because they travelled together before from some time before joining up with the party or joining up with Beau either. I don’t know, but it’ll be very interesting to see!

“I like that voice, but I like this voice too!” Jester told him with a big grin, her wide eyes staring at him in genuine admiration after his procuring of a boat to take them across the lake to look for the fiend and the little girl. 

“Oh well, I’m glad. I’m kind of partial to it myself,” he replied.

He wasn’t lying-he was rather partial to it. It took a bit of time, but the accent came so naturally to him now he was doing it without a second thought.

He had faltered a few times, slipping back into his other voice. Posher, lighter. A remnant of his past.

But he buried it away. No one needed to know about that side of him, that wasn’t who he was anymore. 

He had always been good at voices. When he was younger he would imitate people’s voices and accents when he met a new person with an interesting accent, or someone with a voice that could challenge him. It helped years later, being able to put on the mask of many faces, and to change himself entirely.

He supposed that what he had done anyway.

The voices helped, when he didn’t sound like him anymore, it was easier to pretend. 

It was easier to forget about his past, easier to think of the memories of someone else’s.

He was just Fjord-a regular half orc, wanting to make his way up to academy to learn magic. He used to be a sailor and had a wicked blade that needed no answers.

That all anyone needed to know.

But he did hope he could keep the current voice for a while-he hoped he could stay as Fjord the hexblade, travelling with his companions for a long time.

He was partial to the voice and didn’t want to change it any time soon.


	20. Mollymauk the Albatross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short piece about Molly and his namesake-the mollymawk, a type of albatross and the legends surrounding them.

Beneath him, the waves broke against the shore.

He sat along the edge of the cliff, the misty morning cool against his skin. A clouded day, the sun hidden behind a cover of clouds. 

He clutched a handful of grass in his hand, ripping it from the earth and scattering it off the cliffside. The blades caught in the wind and drifted down to the shore a hundred feet below him, specks of green on the grey world that was home. 

The smell of sea water filled his lungs, and the steady rhythm of the tide rushing in and out, crashing against the stony crags of the cliff.

Behind him was his house-a small thing, of timber and thatch with a garden that was less a garden and more a piece of the Wild that lived next to them.

His legs swung, dangling off the cliffside. When he was younger, his mother taught him to be afraid of the cliff, to protect him. 

But it couldn’t scare him anymore. 

He watched the dreary, grey world, seeing rainclouds in the distance. They were coming close.

Aside from the shift of the tide, it was quiet. The wind blew his hair, and he stared down into the grey waves cover the rocks below.

A bird flew in the distance, and at first glance he thought it to be a common gull-the frequented the area, picking on the sea life below.

But it wasn’t a gull-the wingspan far too wide, a large bird that let out a cry as it flew.

An albatross-more specially, a mollymawk. 

He saw them many times in the area-while not common, they sometimes visited their remote corner of the world. 

He watched his namesake fly far out into the distance, until it was no more than a dark speck in the grey sky. 

Mollymauk…his mother said it would bring good luck. But to who, he wondered at. 

It was not the birds themselves that had the good luck, it was those they followed.

He was a good luck charm, that spared none for himself.

Molly sat on the edge of the cliff, and raised his arms, stretching them as far as they could go from side to side. He spread his fingers wide, and pretended he had wings.

He looked down at the world below him and thought of the freedom the birds had. Here he was-tethered to the earth, while they had the whole sky.

He wanted to be free. Not to fall when he jumped, but to fly.

But to fly.


	21. Tealeaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for episode 26 Found and Lost!
> 
>  
> 
> Expect a lot of Mollymauk based stories...it's a way of coping for me. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is just an exploration of Molly's relationships with the other Mighty Nein, and some reactions to the terrible event that has happened to him.  
> Also this is me either assuming or headcanoning that the three in the cage can see or at the very least heard from out of the cage because it makes the whole thing more dramatic and heartbreaking

Caleb could still feel his forehead burn where the tiefling’s lips had touched. He could still feel the ghost of a steady hand, a gentle pat each time he reached out, blind, and felt comfort and stability in Mollymauk. The circus performer had been everything Caleb was not-so bright, lively, colourful, so ready and willing to care about others. To care about Caleb. He was a bright spot on a dark field now, with the words ‘what could have been’ vanished into the wind.

Nott had heard doubts about Molly. She never quite trusted the tiefling, always wary of his tricks and charms. He was so shiny, like all the little baubles she tried to steal, it was tempting to try and take some of his jewelry from him, but she didn’t want to try her luck against him. But her view of him shifted when he would always step in front of Caleb, her boy, in battles. Mollymauk would be the one to protect Caleb when he could, not blocking him with a shield but with his whole body, taking the blows that would otherwise hurt the wizard. Now, there was no one to protect him like that.

Jester could still hear Molly’s voice in her mind, his smile and the joy of having another tiefling with her. She would miss the card tricks he would perform for her, the way his blades flourished. She prayed to the Traveller, begging him to help save him, but for once her God felt silent. She wept for him, so hurt and desperately thinking of any way she could save him, but as the carts rolled away, it was far too late. Far too late. 

Fjord thought of standing side by side with Molly, watching from the backgrounds as their companions did ridiculous things, most of the time, it felt like corralling a group of hyperactive children around. Whether it was watching in stunned horror as the rest of the Might Nein carried out an impromptu heist with the city guard, or sitting back as they broke into a noble’s mansion, Fjord appreciated that time with Molly. If he ever got out of the cage, if he ever got a chance to sleep in an inn again, he dreaded doing it alone. 

Beau liked to bicker, strange as that was. Her and Molly bickered a lot, but she kept most of her fire locked away, a friendly spat of words here and there. She saw passed his acts and he saw passed most of her walls. She never felt like she had to be fake nice with him, he could take whatever she dished out, and vice versa. It wasn’t until after he fell that a thought struck her-the way Molly spoke to her, it was reminiscent of the way he spoke to the people at the circus, spoke to people he cared about. And Beau realized she had more friends than she ever really thought before.

Yasha felt a burning rage, locked in the chains. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a crackling energy, her hand felt electric, and her hair stood on end. She screamed out in the cage as Molly fell, until her throat burned. She thrashed and yanked on the chains until her wrists were scratched to hell. It was a mistake to cage the storm. Tears in her eyes, she stared, helpless at Molly’s body, lightning flaring in her eyes. Molly was the first one to be kind to her, to care about her. He knew what it was like to be different like her. He was the closest friend Yasha ever had, and he was gone now...the flowers he had gotten her were still woven into her hair, and they burned a hole into her head with thoughts of him. She whipped her head around to the front of the carts, to those who imprisoned her, who kept her from Molly to save him. It was a mistake to cage a storm, for when it was released, you would feel her wrath.


	22. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sad, so here is some more writing about Molly!  
> Still under the head canon that Fjord & Jester & Yasha could hear the events of the battle.

They heard everything. They jolted as the carts came to a sudden stop, squished together in the small cages. They heard raised voices, and then the voices took a strange, sluggish tone to them. Something clicked first in Fjord’s mind, where he had heard this before. He turned, desperate to look, and saw from behind the veil of magic concealing the three of them, Beau came bursting from the hills. Jester struggled and tried to scream, but the bindings were too tight.

They saw the battle, rushing from each side, confused to who the dwarven women with their friends was, wanting to cheer when they knocked the half orc women down.

But they saw it too, when Mollymauk fell, when the Mighty Nein was taught a lesson they wouldn’t forget anytime soon. And Yasha screamed until her voice was hoarse, her rage blinding her and she thrashed around the cage, desperate to get to her friend. But his body fell limp as Jester sobbed and Fjord stared in with horror and pain in his eyes.

And as the carts started up again, they saw their last three friend a little ways off, battered and bruised, their last hope of rescue, beaten and helpless. And regret filled their minds, drifting back to their last moments with Mollymauk, the bright tiefling still lying motionless on the ground, and each formed their farewell to the blood hunter.


	23. The Hanged Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one moment in the earlier episode where Molly checks his cards before making a decision, in that case I do believe it was turning himself in to the guards with the rest of the party back in the first town. This is a short piece about him continuing to check his tarot cards, and one that he pulls turns out to be a little more accurate than anyone wants. Also inspired by some lovely fan art by various artists depicting a similar situation.

It was a cold night-no snow yet, but it would be coming soon. No fire either, they couldn’t risk the light giving away their position. Before they decided to huddle together in the tent for warmth, Molly was sitting, slowly putting away his things into his bag for the time.

He pulled out his deck of cards, flipping through them. He shuffled them, the darkened sky making it hard to even see, but his Darkvision gave him a better advantage then the rest of his companions.

His tarot cards fully shuffled, he spread them out and pulled out a card for himself.

And on that cloudy night, he saw the Hanged Man card staring back at him. The eye holes boring into his soul.

A flicker of apprehension sparked inside him as he stared at the card.

But it meant nothing, truly. All the cards, just a gimmick, a game at most. 

He was no true fortune teller, the cards could not tell the future, they could not tell his future.

And even if they did, he supposed it made sense, they were about to engage in a dangerous task. 

The card didn’t mean that Hanged Man was him.

Right?

He saw the Hanged Man again in his mind as he stared upwards.

Eyes never closed.


	24. Mollymawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more albatross lore, this one exploring the birds being the souls of lost sailors. Mild Caleb/Molly

Caleb opened his eyes.

He was on a ship, sailing along rough waves, salt water splashing onto the deck. A violent storm was in the distance. 

The wizard looked around, the haziness of his surroundings lent to his belief that he was in a dream.

He expected to see Fjord somewhere, perhaps a younger version of the half-orc, but Caleb was the only one on deck. He looked down at his body, and was very much still a ragged human.

He heard a bird cry that drowned out the rest of the noise from the waves and the storms.

Caleb looked up to see the bird, a large wingspan circling overhead. No mere gull, no. Caleb peered out beyond the ship, there was no land in sight. 

No, the bird was an albatross, he was sure of it.

The soul of a lost sailor...sent to watch the ship.

Caleb had a funny feeling he knew what soul was watching him.

“I was going to leave, you know.” He said, his voice carrying upwards over the din of the crashing waves and rumble of thunder, “I didn’t know for how much longer I could stay with you all...it was always a risk.”

Caleb swallowed hard as the albatross circled around closer to him.

“Why did you care…” Caleb faltered, hands trembling as he looked up at the bird, “Why did you care about me, Mollymauk?”

The bird offered no reply, but it stopped circled and came to a hover in front of Caleb, its large wings flapped in a methodical rhythm.

“I thought...I didn’t care,” Caleb continued, “I wanted to distance myself from all of you, I tried, to make it easier on all of us. But I...when I saw you fall, that changed for me.”

The bird landed on the railing along the edge of the ship. A spray of sea water landed on it, but it just ruffled its feathers and shook it off.

“Mollymauk…” Caleb reach out a hand to touch the bird, but it spread its wings and took to the skies once more.

Caleb watch it until it was far into the distance, just a speck on the dark horizon.

Water crashed into the ship as a bolt of lightning hit the mask. The ship was going down, down into the waves.

Caleb’s eyes never left the bird as he sunk into the water.


	25. Caleb and Yasha (I Wish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following episode 30, here's my interpretation of the missing scene of Caleb's short rest in the Iron Sheppard's Fort while the rest of the party goes off the investigate the place, he stays behind with Yasha, still slightly delirious from his injuries.

Caleb Widogast stumbled forwards, his wounds still severe and painful.

He took a seat on the ground, still clutching at his torso, his coat torn where the glaive hit him, the tear extending into his flesh. 

The rest of his party members-some old, some new went through the rest of the fort to see what they could find.

Caleb requested books-he always wanted more books, but doubted they would find any.

So the wizard found himself with the unconscious body of Yasha. He stared at her form for a while, seeing the hurt and the scars still left from the torture. 

“Just as I said, everything went…good, it’s good,” Caleb muttered, both to himself and to Yasha.

Weary and light headed, Caleb blinked hard a few times, coloured lights dancing in his vision. 

“I am uh, going to lie down next to you, if that is alright with you,” he told Yasha.

Sleeping Yasha did not respond.

Caleb took that as a yes, and lay beside her, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear his friend’s footsteps in the floor above him.

“It all worked out in the end, _ja_?” Caleb said to the ceiling.

His eyes were shut, as he took laboured breaths in and out.

“We saved Fjord, we saved Jester…and we saved you, Yasha.” Caleb continued, “You know, I thought about leaving. Off into the night without so much as I goodbye. But I didn’t. You know why? Because I thought of you. Who else would help me shave?”

He let out a weak chuckle at the last remark, which turned into a series of wheezing coughs from the pain. 

“But…we are friends, _ja_? Friends just don’t leave-well, you do, but we know you are going to come back to us, eventually. The same could not be said for me.”

Caleb opened his eyes, his vision blurry. He blinked twice, as his eyes adjusted back into focus.

“We might have saved…all of you here, but we could not…” he let out along exhale, coupled with a ragged inhale, “I could not save our friend.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment, focusing on breathing in and out and the pain waxed and waned. 

“I wish I…could have done something, I wish…” Caleb’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “I wish I could save him too.”

The words poured out of him now, scratchy against his throat in his debilitated state.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf was a good man, who deserved a good life. He had…so much life in him, he didn’t hold back. He deserved a long, full, glorious life, not a cold, shallow grave. He had a good heart, that one. Better than many of ours. He just wanted to see the world be brighter.”

Caleb finally let his head flop down to his side, looking to Yasha.

“But what am I saying-you know this.” He told her, with another half chuckle, “You knew him better than all of us. You knew what type of man he was.”

Caleb swallowed hard, staring at the pale form of Yasha lying next to him. 

“And I am so sorry, Yasha…that I could not save him.”

Caleb’s gaze returned to the ceiling.

“I wish that I could summon Frumpkin for you, but that _drecksau_ took him as well.” Caleb spat, “But Frumpkin can always return to me, with a bit of magic. I wish the same could be said for Molly. Thought you never know, he did it once before. If he is so inclined to rise from his grave again, I did leave him a note to come find us. He’s a magic one, that one. Perhaps we will see him again some day, _ja_? _Ja_ …”

The wizard took another glance towards Yasha, as he heard the footsteps of his friends heading down the stairs of the fort once more.

“You are a good listener, friend.” He whispered to her, “ _Danke_.”


	26. Are you there, Traveller? It’s me, Jester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While imprisoned by the Iron Sheppard's, someone's got to stay positive. Besides, the Traveller's never let her down before...

For someone in the captivity of human traffickers, Jester is doing surprisingly well for herself. The tiefling isn’t what anyone would call weak by any means, but it is surprising nonetheless.

She hums to herself through the bindings that gag her, upbeat tunes one might hear in the tavern. Her words are muffled, but whenever she got the chance, she would try her best to comfort every cell mate she had.

Jester had a strength of spirit that wasn’t so easily diminished. A young woman who has gone through life, and who is much harder to break than the Iron Sheppard’s originally thought.

What keeps her going is thoughts of the Traveller. In her thoughts, she speaks to him. Every night, she tries to, but she loses track of time in the cells. Whenever she thinks of it, she prays to him.

_Traveller, where are you? Please, I need you’re help. I need to know you’re here with me._

_I’m really scared, Traveller. But I know you’re going to come rescue me._

_I’m sorry I don’t have my sketchbook with me-would you be able to hear me if I wrote in there? You could hear me sometimes before without it._

_Traveller?_

In the end, it wasn’t the Traveller that saved her. It was her friends, the Mighty Nein. 

She was so happy to be rescued, and to see them, but her head was still kind of clouded afterwards.

_But why didn’t you come?_

_Why didn’t you come?_


	27. Nott and Beau (What Friends Are For)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the Mighty Nein's downtime in Zadash after the events of the conflict with the Iron Sheppard's, Beauregard drowns her sorrows in drink, while Nott watches out for her.

“Beau?”

“Yeah?”

The monk glances to the seat next to her, where a goblin climbs her way onto the chair.

The tavern is fairly empty, and they’re close to the wall. Nott removes her porcelain mask, pulling it away so Beau can see her face.

It was strange-it never occurred to Beau to be afraid of Nott, even with those yellow eyes and sharp teeth. In the low lighting of the tavern, feeble candlelight flickering against the walls, the pupils of Nott’s eyes were large, reminiscent of Frumpkin’s.

Beau took another swig of her drink, and shuddered as it went down. An awful burning sensation pouring down her throat-but she liked it. 

“What do you want?” Beau asked, leaning her elbow on the table.

“I just…” Not paused for a moment, “I-just-wanted-to-make-sure-you-were-okay.”

The words tumbled out of the Goblin’s mouth so fast that Beau couldn’t catch it.

“What’d you say?” Beau asked.

“I’m just…checking up on you,” Nott said defensively, before taking a swig from her flask.

Beau was a little taken aback, and narrowed her eyes as she look Nott over. She seemed forthright enough. 

Beau shrugged, “Oh, uh…that’s cool. I’m fine, but-hey, thanks.”

Nott’s brow furrowed, “Are you sure?”

It sounded more accusatory than concerned. Beau didn’t respond. She only took another drink.

“Are you thinking about Keg?” Nott demanded, with the confidence of one who thinks they have solved a life long mystery.

Beau choked on her drink. She sputtered, aggressively wiping away the beer that was running down her chin, glaring at Nott in mild annoyance.

“No, I wasn’t thinking about Keg.” Beau grumbled.

The monk peered into her tankard, the contents seriously diminished. While she stared into the brown liquid, she spoke to Nott again, “It was good how we left it, it wasn’t anything more than that."

Nott nodded, and Beau finished the rest of her drink.

“I wasn’t thinking about Keg,” Beau continued, “I was thinking about Yasha.”

“About Yasha?” Nott tilted her head.

“Yeah…I just, I don’t know, I’m worried she isn’t going to come back.” Beau admitted, wanting for another drink.

“Well, she said she’d come back, didn’t she?” Nott pointed out.

“I know, I know…it’s just…” Beau shook her head, trailing off. 

She cracked and popped a few of the joints in her fingers one by one as she stared off into the tavern.

“Why do you care?” Nott questioned, the goblin’s voice disrupting Beau’s contemplation.

“What do you mean?” Beau asked.

Nott scooted her chair closer, “Why do you care so much about Yasha?”

Beau made a noise of exasperation, “Uh, because she’s our friend? It’d be the same if you walked off into the night, I’d be concerned for you too.”

“Really?” Nott asked.

Beau looked at her, brow furrowed, “Of course. Because we’re friends, Nott.”

“Oh.” The goblin was quiet for a moment, “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Beau replied.

She really wanted another drink, but the barmaid was occupied across the tavern.

“Yasha will be fine. She can take care of herself. She’s very powerful, y’know.” Nott assured her.

“I know-it’s just, I’ve already lost one friend. I don’t want to lose another,” Beau confessed.

Nott fell quiet, and nodded solemnly.

Beau reached over and tousled Nott’s hair, “You should probably head up to your room. Caleb will be waiting for you.”

Nott looked up at her, “Are you heading up?”

Beau shrugged, “I will. Eventually. Maybe after another drink.”

“Then I’ll wait up with you,” Nott told her. 

Beau raised her eyebrows.

Nott shrugged nonchalantly, “It’s nothing. It’s just-that’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yeah,” Beau said with a nod, leaning back in her chair, “That’s what friends are for.”


	28. Yasha the Unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a fool would try and cage the Storm

A lightning storm is a force of nature. Dangerous, powerful. It takes want it wants. It is untameable.

Unbreakable.

It cannot be bound or caged. It is white hot fury, it is unforgiveness.

And yet Yasha lay, bound in her cage, and coughing up blood. 

She was on the brink of consciousness, slipping in and out, her vision swimming dark.

She saw the storm. She felt it pulse within her body. 

Though deep underground, she could feel the call of the storm. 

The call of her Lord.

Her strength was fading, her grip on life was fading. 

She was weak, and helpless.

But unbreakable.

They could not break her, she vowed that they never would. 

Yasha would take every beating they had, if it meant sparing her cell mates a little more time.

The rage burned in her throat, the anger seeping through her veins.

The storm was unbreakable.

Yasha was unbreakable.

The Iron Sheppard’s would have to try a little harder than that.


End file.
